


Full.

by mattzerella_sticks



Series: Season 15 Inspired [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brotherly Bonding, Brotherly Love, Coda, Confessions, Confusion, Dean Winchester Has Self-Worth Issues, Dean Winchester Misses Castiel, Depressed Dean Winchester, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s15e05 Coda, Episode: s15e05 Proverbs 17:3, Food, Free Will, Guilty Dean Winchester, Hurt Dean Winchester, M/M, Season/Series 15, sam winchester is a good brother
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2019-11-18
Packaged: 2021-02-08 06:53:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21471841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mattzerella_sticks/pseuds/mattzerella_sticks
Summary: Dean can't think about Chuck back on his bullshit, writing his own timeline of their lives without their input. He can't think about Cas, his angel ignoring their calls and following through with his promise to 'move on'. Can't think about the end.What he can do is eat. So he does. And he won't let anyone stop him, especially Sam.But there's only so much he can stuff down. What happens when there's no more room, and he has to deal with what's left? Will he be strong enough?Coda to 15x05 "Proverbs 17:3"
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Series: Season 15 Inspired [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1517543
Comments: 6
Kudos: 106





	Full.

**Author's Note:**

> Whaddup!!
> 
> I've already done a fluffy food fic for s15 so I might as well do an angsty one lol. Hope you enjoy... I know I did writing this for y'all to read ;)

Dean frowns at the mess waiting for him in the sink. Plates stacked upon plates with smears of foodstuffs and crumbs on their surfaces. Some wet from being repeatedly drowned whenever he turned the sink on and others dry because of how long they sat going unwashed.

Sighing, Dean adds another plate to the stack. Careful to place it where it won’t fumble, slide, and clatter against the rest. Then he grabs another from the above cabinet’s short supply, walks to the fridge and begins searching for his next meal.

Weighing the roast beef leftovers with his hands Dean guesses there’s enough to slice off and make a sandwich with. He grabs a few more ingredients to fill out the sandwich. Sprawls them on the island’s counter, surrounding the plate. Finishes preparation by slapping two pieces of bread down and pulling a knife from the door.

Sam finds him squirting mayonnaise on one of the bread pieces.

He walks in sifting through cards, brows scrunched together. “Dean?” he asks, “Have you seen our fake press passes?”

Dean spreads the mayonnaise with the knife blindly, watching his brother. “Why do you need those?”

“Figured after our last hunt we should update our old credentials so they, y’know, so they _ look _ like us.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dean huffs, “maybe I got a few more wrinkles but that’s it.”

“_ Sure, Dean _.” Sarcasm drips from Sam’s words like icing off a warm cake. Dean lets it slide off him. Focuses instead on plastering the lettuce onto the mayonnaise so it will stick. However, while he presses his hand flat against the greens, Dean feels his skin burn under a focused spotlight. Glancing up he meets his brother’s gaze.

“What?”

“You’re eating,” Sam starts, lips pursed, “_ again _.”

Dean pauses with the tomato, squeezing it. “So?” he asks, “I got a healthy appetite.”

Unimpressed, Sam’s mouth implodes and stretches into a flat line. “Funny. That’s _ exactly _ what you said after you made that 50’s spread for breakfast… and made at least three different lunches… buffet dinner. This is…?”

He shrugs. “A midnight snack?”

“It’s not even midnight!”

“Fine, a nine-forty-five snack?”

Sam shakes his head, striding forward and closing the distance between them. Stopping at the island, across from him, he slides the IDs onto the edge. Quickly sneaking a peek, Dean sees a babyface version of himself smiling up at the ceiling. Laughing, probably because he knew the Federal Booby Inspector badge was a stupid risk that would pay off. Unaware of all the crap he’d have to wade through that made the first half of his life seem like a cakewalk. His brother clears his throat, drawing his attention back to him.

“Hey,” Sam says, voice soft and expectant in the way Dean _ hates _. Like he cornered some injured animal, ready to snap. “Everything okay?”

Dean licks his wounds and snarls. “Peachy. Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Well, you seemed pretty down yesterday,” Sam dredges up the memory of the conversation from yesterday. Learning Chuck still kept a vested interest in ‘guiding’ them in their lives. Dean brushes his fingers against one of Lillith’s cuts, remembering how after Sam went to the library for research Dean hid in the kitchen and ate cookies, ice cream, and pretzels dipped in frosting. Fell asleep with a spoon in his mouth, slumped against the fridge.

“Of course,” Dean says, “it was a hell of a day.”

Sam nods, tapping his finger against Dean’s face. Each point of contact makes Dean flinch somewhat. Trying to carry on with what he was doing, Dean sets the tomato on a nearby cutting board. Cleans the knife with a rag and gently slices through it.

“Have you heard from Cas yet?”

The knife stops halfway into the second cut, Dean seizing. Eyes glued to the tomato, watching the juices slowly ooze from where he wounded it, he swallows around the lump in his throat. “No,” he tells him, “he hasn’t answered you yet?”

Sighing, Sam finally stops tapping and snatches the tiny bit of tomato Dean already chopped. He pops it into his mouth. “I’m starting to get worried,” he says, “it’s not like him to be radio silent.”

“I mean, yeah…” Dean says, continuing cutting with careful movements.

“Do you think maybe Chuck did something -”

“_ No. _ ” A sharp whack accompanies him, startling Sam. “Look, Sam,” he continues, pointing the knife at him, “just because Cas hasn’t hit you back doesn’t mean something _ bad _ happened. Maybe he’s busy. Maybe he doesn’t want to talk to us.” A panicked filter warps his voice. “Y’know _ maybe _ he decided, with all this free will, that he’d rather spend time with people who _ aren’t _ us and start fresh elsewhere. Maybe _ that _’s it.”

“Dean,” Sam says, careful with his approach, “It’s okay. Please calm down -”

“I am calm!” Dean shouts, knife waving wildly, “I’m also fed up hearing about this. About everything. ...Who cares?”

“_ I _ do,” Sam tells him, “And so should you? What’s gotten into you?”

He won’t answer. Instead he returns the knife to the tomato. Slicing through it with enough force to scare his brother away from the path that tempts him.

Except he can’t be scared so easily. Sam rounds the island to question further. “Seriously,” he says, “Cas hasn’t answered us for this long and you’re not bouncing up the walls? You get sent to his voicemail one time and you think he’s found trouble and are raring to get out of here. This isn’t like you, Dean.”

“What?” he sighs, “You think this is Chuck again? Now he’s messing with how I _ react _ to things?”

“No! Maybe? I… I don’t know!” Sam bites his lip, his silence distracting Dean while he moves in for the next cut. “Because every time I try and talk about Cas you somehow change the subject and -”

“_ Sonofabitch _!”

Dean stumbles backwards and into the counter, hissing while pressing one hand against his palm. Sam’s eyes widen as he takes in the entire scene. From the droplets of blood mixing with the pooling tomato juice on the cutting board to his brother staring at his palm in disbelief.

“Dean?” Sam asks, “Dean did you cut yourself?”

His mouth opens and shuts, but no words escape.

Sam sighs, advancing towards his brother. About a few steps away Dean’s gaze jumps from his wound to him. Green eyes, usually so confident, were shaken by the accident. Sam’s figure looks warped like by some funhouse mirror. He flinches when Sam raises a hand with spindly fingers reaching for him. “Come on, Dean,” his brother says, “let’s get you patched up.”

The next time Sam inches close, Dean allows him to grab his wrist. First Sam inspects the cut, a clinical sweep detached in a way he wishes to have. But the second he caught sight of angry red that marred his skin Dean’s mind shot down into a terrifying whirlpool of darkness.

It wasn’t the most painful cut he ever received - especially in the past few days. But it was the straw that broke his back. Crueler than all the lives Chuck stole from their story, again and again, because the only one to blame was himself. He made another _ careless _ mistake and he now suffers for it. At the end of the day his own worst enemy isn’t sitting behind a computer screen but greets him in every reflection.

He sobs, a broken sound that surprises both of them. Sam turns away from the faucet, where Dean’s hand soaks under the running stream.

“Dean?”

“It… it, it...” he stutters, “it _ hurts _.”

Sam glances at the cut, frown deepening. “I’m sorry if it stings,” he says, “a few more seconds and we can put some antiseptic on, then bandage -”

“Not the damn cut, Sammy,” Dean tells him, “_ Everything _ hurts. In… in here.” He pokes his chest, tears freely flowing and drowning him. “What with Chuck… all that… that happened… Ma, Jack, Rowena, Ketch and… and _ Cas _ -” Knees buckling, Dean collapses to the floor. Sam follows and eases him so his knees don’t slam. “It all hurts and I feel so drained and - and _ empty. _ Especially after… and I keep eating, and eating, but Sam I’m never full. I… I _ can’t _ stop eating, I can’t stop _ hurting _ . Hurting _ everyone _... “

“Hey, hey hey hey hey,” Sam shushes him, squeezing his wrist and dragging him into a hug. Wet hand pressed flat between their chests, Sam rubs his back. “You’re not hurting _ everyone _.”

“I want Chuck to end it already,” Dean admits to Sam’s shoulder, “Before I do it again. You’re the only one who hasn’t left me, Sam. Once you go I… I don’t think I can take anymore losses, man.”

“Don’t say that,” Sam growls, “It’s all Chuck’s fault, Dean. Chuck is controlling our lives - making us run this stupid maze of us. Using us for cheap entertainment to get his rocks off! It’s not _ you _.”

It’s comforting to think it was Chuck pulling his strings in those moments. Dean considered it himself. But Sam only says this because he doesn’t know the whole truth. “It’s _ partly _ me,” Dean starts, deflating in Sam’s arms. “Mostly… Chuck put us in this crazy situation but he didn’t… he wasn’t feeding me lines when I said what I did to Cas. Blaming him for _ everything _ that went wrong and spitting on eleven years of… of _ us _.”

“What -”?

“And now he’s gone!” Dean chuckles madly, more tears soaking Sam’s shirt, “He… he _ moved on _ . I didn’t think he’d do it but he _ did _ and I _ hate _ every day since.” Gasping, he leans away from Sam to look him in the eyes. Accepting the mild expression of disappointment shadowing his features. “All I want is him here, except every time I think of apologizing I can’t get past this stupid block. It could be fear or - or I’m still angry with Cas. I try and think about _ why _ I get this headache and it all becomes so… so _ confusing _ . Maybe that’s Chuck or maybe I’m a coward. Can’t talk to him but also can’t live like this… so I stuff my face. Only that’s not working either and I’m… I’m out of options Sam. What do I do?” Dean begs, “What do I _ do _?”

He quiets after the outburst, waiting for Sam’s response. Sam, his brother who can always see the light in a darkened room. Who can think through the toughest of puzzles and come up with an answer. Who has decades of emotional maturity over Dean who can’t say a few little words his best friend _ deserves _ without his palms sweating and jeans dampening. Swallowed his heart more times that there’s nowhere that hasn’t been burned by his stomach acid.

Too much time passes without a response. “Sam?” Dean shakes him, “What do I -”

“I can’t tell you that, Dean.”

“...What?”

“I can’t tell you,” he repeats, smiling, “and neither can Chuck. What happens next between you and Cas that… that’s up to you. I _ know _ you can do what’s right.”

“No… no, Sam,” Dean says, body trembling, “I… I can’t. Especially when it comes to Cas, man. My track record with him… I wasn’t always the best to him but he never thought that until… until I…” Chest heaving, Dean wipes away his tears. “I’m a screw up, Sam. I’ve always been… and that’s what I’ll keep being. Chuck doesn’t want me to have _ any _ character growth -”

“I wouldn’t say that Dean,” Sam interrupts, stretching forward. Blindly searches atop the counter, he smiles when he finds what he needs. As he brings it closer Dean sees they’re the fake credentials.

“Sam -”

“You’ve changed, Dean,” he shows off the top badge, that same frozen Dean from earlier smiling at _ him _ . “Do you think _ this _ guy would own up to his mistakes… would he struggle with his feelings… openly admit that he _ has _ them so easily like you have… _ cry _ in front of me? Dean you’re _ nothing _ like you were in the past. These two guys might be the same person but I prefer the you you are now and not the you you were then. He didn’t know who he was, didn’t _ allow _ himself the opportunity to explore _ different _ parts of himself. Stuck to one path and didn’t question if there were any others. Now you’re right, that on the surface nothing’s really changed… but I think we both know that the boy in this photo is a _ stranger_.”

It’s always hard fighting Sam’s logic, especially with how worn out he feels. Even if he had enough energy to do so, Dean wouldn’t. Because finally Dean agrees with Sam. “It… _ doesn’t _ look like me. Like at all.”

Sam laughs, nodding. “I’ve been trying to tell you…”

“Updating these are gonna be a bitch, though,” he grouses, rubbing his eye, “I don’t think there’s a Kinkos left in America.”

Shrugging, Sam tucks the credentials into his shirt pocket. “I’m sure there’s still one kid with a van and a laminator.”

“Probably won’t accept a fake credit card though.”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

Dean smiles. Breathes easier without the crushing weight of his worries on his chest. Shouldering them with Sam proves better than doing so alone. Their mirth dies and his brother returns to the heart of their conversation.

“So,” Sam says, “what do you want to do?”

Dean thinks about it. Reflects on his addled mind, extends his awareness past it and to his body. Checking in from the tips of his fingers to his toes. Relaxing against the island, he stretches his legs in front of him. “Kinda don’t feel like doing much of anything right now,” he admits, “just wanna sit here a while and do nothing.”

“That’s okay.” Sam unfolds himself as well, readying to stand from his crouch. Dean catches him before he fully stands. “What?”

“I... “ Dean can’t meet Sam’s curious gaze. Blushing, he stares at his lap. “I also don’t want to be alone…”

Sam’s mouth forms a perfect circle on its journey to becoming a gentle smile. “Sure, Dean,” he says. Mirroring Dean, Sam joins him on the floor. However where Dean’s feet brush the cabinets, Sam bends his knees to fit his log-like legs in the space.

Together they hide behind the island. Away from Chuck and all the responsibility waiting for them. Soon they won’t be able to run away from all that needs addressing. To be the men they are and face each challenge with courage in their hearts.

But for this moment, they’re the boys they were. Boys they haven’t been since before the fire. Brothers sitting in the kitchen, together.

Many things might change, but the most important things don’t. What Dean believes in, what his angel means to him, and how important his brother is to him.

“I love you, Sam.”

“I love you, too, Dean.”

“...I promise not to kill you if you don’t try and kill me.”

Snickering, Sam shoves at him. “Way to ruin the moment.”

“What?”

**Author's Note:**

> Wow! What a read!
> 
> Let me know what you thought! Drop a kudos and comment :D


End file.
